That Butler, Operatic
by Lily Winterwood
Summary: When the Phantom of the Opera causes mayhem at the Paris Opera House, Queen Victoria steps in by sending her Watchdog to deal with the ghost. Of course no one's better suited to deal with the Phantom of the Opera than Earl Ciel Phantomhive and his butler.


**Title:** That Butler, Operatic

**Character(s):** Ciel Phantomhive, Sebastian Michaelis, PotO cast

**Rating:** PG

**Warnings:** Sebastian/Ciel (if you squint), mixture of both the book and musical of PotO

**Notes:** I don't own Kuroshitsuji or the Phantom of the Opera.

* * *

**That Butler, Operatic**

_To My Cute Little Ciel, Earl Phantomhive,_

_How have you been? My my, it's certainly been a while since we last met, no? You should come around and visit someday. We'll have a splendid tea party!_

_Enclosed is an invitation to attend a masquerade at the Paris Opera House. Previously there have been some strange – almost _fantastic_ – events happening there. You see, little one, the managers of the Opera, Messieurs Debienne and Poligny, have recently retired and passed their offices over to Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin. From then on strange things have occurred there – the worst being that halfway through a performance the chandelier crashes! Everyone blames a man they know as the Opera Ghost – and is he truly man or ghost? That is for you to find out for me._

_As a lover of the arts, I beg you, little one, to get to the bottom of the mystery of the Phantom of the Opera!_

_Victoria_

* * *

"Surely we can just leave this case to the Sûreté?" Ciel Phantomhive sighed in annoyance as he set down the letter and took a sip of tea. His demonic butler, Sebastian Michaelis, sliced him a piece of Sachertorte.

"Even the Sûreté are confused about this," Lord Arthur Randall, police commissioner of Scotland Yard, snapped from across the desk. "Do I look pleased to present you with a job that we could probably figure out?"

Ciel smirked. "If Her Majesty believes that the Phantomhives are better suited to finding the Phantom of the Opera than Scotland Yard, then I will certainly undertake this… job." He stared at Randall, blue eye calculating.

Randall glared back.

* * *

They set off for Paris early next morning with the carriages loaded with boxes.

"The masquerade's in a week, Young Master; are you prepared for it?" Sebastian asked as the carriage drove through the gates of the Phantomhive estate.

"We'll get costumes in Paris," Ciel replied dismissively, leaning back in his seat with a devil-may-care attitude. "The French know fashion well, and it's not like I care."

Sebastian chuckled quietly.

Their ferry left the port at Dover in the afternoon. "We will arrive in Calais early next morning," Sebastian reported as he poured Ciel a cup of tea. "From there we will take a train inland to Paris."

"I see," Ciel muttered, sipping his tea and staring out at the horizon. People walked past, many of them talking about the upcoming masquerade at the Paris Opera House.

After a while, Ciel looked at Sebastian. "So, did you find out anything regarding this 'Opera Ghost' that Her Majesty wants us to catch?" he asked, setting down his macaroon.

"Yes, quite a bit," Sebastian answered, handing Ciel a set of files. "Scotland Yard had some information, so last night I paid them a visit and copied these files. However, the majority of the information rests on superstition and very untrustworthy testimonies; the information tends to conflict in places. Especially regarding the Ghost's appearance – I've never seen an account of a ghost with so many different appearances! The majority agree, however, that the ghost usually looks like a skeleton in dress-clothes."

Ciel read over the files. "Humph," he grumbled as he set the files down. "They seem to blame everything on this ghost of theirs. Typical of the _French_."

Sebastian chuckled.

* * *

After a day or so of travelling, Ciel and Sebastian finally arrived in Paris. The masquerade was five days away, so in the morning Ciel intended to visit the Opera House and meet the managers.

"The worst thing that the ghost seems to have done so far is drop a chandelier during a performance," Ciel noted the night of their arrival, as Sebastian undressed him for bed. The black-clad butler nodded, removing his boots and socks before reaching up to untie his eye patch.

"That seems true, Young Master. However, I have discovered several articles in the _Époque_ about the strange occurrences at the Opera House. It appears that on the night of the previous managers' retirement a man was found strangled beneath the stage. That same night, a chorus girl became a star."

"Chorus girl?" Ciel echoed, his eyes widening. One eye was blue; the other shone purple with a pact mark.

"Christine Daaé," Sebastian answered, sliding Ciel's shirt off his shoulders and replacing it with a long white nightshirt. "Daughter of the famous Swedish violinist Gustave Daaé. She disappeared after her triumphant performance for a few days and returned refusing to speak to the press about the disappearance. Of course, everyone blames it on the Ghost."

"Of course," echoed Ciel, rubbing his forehead as Sebastian slid his trousers down his legs slowly. His heart raced; he was unable to slow it down. "Anything else?"

"A newly-appointed box-keeper was killed the night the chandelier dropped. It hit her head; she died on impact." Sebastian, his face expressionless, folded up the clothes and tucked Ciel in.

"I see. Good night, Sebastian."

"Good night, Young Master."

* * *

"Enchanté, Earl Phantomhive," one of the managers – introduced as Firmin Richard – said nervously, shaking Ciel's hand. Obviously, he and his business partner Armand Moncharmin had thought that Sebastian was the Earl. People tended to confuse the two at first sight, because weren't Earls supposed to be adults? No one ever expected the Earl of Phantomhive to be a twelve-year-old boy.

Silly adults. Ciel shook hands with the two managers with a stony face; they seemed taken aback at his demeanour. As he took out the Queen's letter, there was a knock at the door.

A young man with a boyish face and light brown hair entered the office. "My apologies, messieurs, for being late," he said hastily; Sebastian and Ciel both raised their eyebrows.

Moncharmin sighed. "Ah, today wasn't a good day to rise late, M. le Vicomte." He turned to Ciel and Sebastian. "Earl Ciel Phantomhive, I introduce to you the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny."

"Enchanté, sir," Raoul said, shaking hands with Ciel with a slightly winded expression. "So you are the investigator that the Queen of England has sent to deal with our Opera Ghost?" his voice was tinged with scepticism.

"Oui, _monsieur_," Ciel replied, sarcasm colouring his French. "So, gentlemen, shall we begin? Kindly lead me to the chandelier."

As they left the office, Ciel distinctly heard Richard whisper, "Is this the Queen's idea of a joke?"

"That child seems to be more of an adult in a child's body than anything else," the Vicomte replied coolly.

* * *

The chandelier lay in a remote corner backstage, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of daily life like the unwanted memory that it was. The managers explained that they had already replaced it; Ciel paid them no heed as he ran a hand over one of the chandelier's graceful arms, disrupting the dust that had already settled on it. A grey blanket of forgetfulness fell to the ground. "Explain, messieurs," he demanded as he looked at some shattered crystals, "what happened on the night this chandelier dropped."

Moncharmin nodded, looking extremely nervous. "The ghost sliced this cord and broke these chains during the performance," he said hoarsely. "It was during a performance of _Faust_. Christine Daaé was playing Siébel; La Carlotta, the prima donna, played Marguerite." Ciel nodded, examining the broken chain and sliced cords. Sebastian was scrutinising a broken gas lamp.

"Sebastian, the chains," hissed Ciel, and the demon nodded. The Earl turned to the managers. "Mlle Christine Daaé wasn't in the lead that night?"

"No, she only played Marguerite for one night, when La Carlotta was ill," Richard explained. "It was the night we took over the management, remember?" He directed the last part at Moncharmin, who shuddered.

"Horrifyingly. Just a little into our supper – and it was going quite nicely, mind you! – there came a man with a death's-head who announced that Joseph Buquet was dead! And upon that, Messieurs Debienne and Poligny ushered us into the office and told us about the Ghost!" Moncharmin's eyes were wide with horror, almost as if he intended to scare Ciel. But Ciel, unfazed, continued to stare into the manager's wild eyes.

"Really, monsieur, you mustn't stare so," he remarked drily. "What did they tell you about the Opera Ghost?"

"That we were to obey its every whim!" exclaimed an indignant Richard. "We were to pay him an allowance of twenty-thousand francs a month. A month! And Box Five was to be placed at _his_ disposal at every performance! Naturally we thought it a joke, but we sat through that fatal performance of Faust in Box Five, and it was horrible!"

"Absolutely horrible!" chimed Moncharmin.

"Then we must go back to the performance again," sighed Ciel. "Tell me about it. While you're at it, take me to Box Five."

* * *

They walked through several corridors to get from backstage to the grand staircase leading up to the boxes. "It's Box Five on the Grand Tier," explained Richard as they went.

"Sebastian," Ciel hissed, "What have you gathered so far about the chandelier?"

"It wasn't forcefully severed like they believe it was," Sebastian whispered back. They entered the box; it appeared to be like any other. Bedecked in red velvet and with a good view of the stage, it sported nothing of a spectral presence.

"You are certain this is the ghost's box?" Ciel demanded as he and Sebastian took a seat for a moment.

"Absolutely certain!" exclaimed Moncharmin.

"Just a question, Messieurs," Sebastian spoke up suddenly, still facing the stage. The Managers and the Vicomte stared at him. "Exactly how much damage did the chandelier cause when it dropped?"

"Well, monsieur…" began Richard, trailing off because he didn't know who Sebastian was.

"Michaelis. He's my butler. Sebastian Michaelis," Ciel cut in sharply. "Continue."

"Yes, uh… well, you see, Monsieur Michaelis, approximately twenty people were injured by the crash, and one was killed."

"The concierge of Box Five," stated Sebastian, causing the others to look at each other in consternation. Ciel smirked.

"That's all nice, but can _anyone_ tell me what happened before it dropped?" he snapped.

"La Carlotta lost her voice," Raoul replied immediately. "Started sounding like a toad –"

"Excuse me, monsieur, I am _not_ a toad!" exclaimed a feminine voice from behind them. A very handsome woman stood there bedecked in pink and feathers; she had dark red hair that fell in ringlets about her and a straight nose. "I believe the investigators are here, messieurs?" she demanded. Ciel stood up.

"Yes, Madame. I am the Earl of Phantomhive. And you are?" His businesslike tone startled the woman.

"La Carlotta, rightful prima donna of the Opera," she said, glaring pointedly at the Vicomte. Raoul coughed.

"Right, very nice to meet you. Have you any information on the Opera Ghost?" Ciel's expression didn't seem to rest well with the Spanish diva; she frowned at him.

"Si, si, I do. The Opera Ghost is just a ploy! All a ploy to help Christine Daaé take my place as prima donna!" She fairly screeched the last part, looking like a bad-tempered poodle.

Raoul bristled. "Christine would never –" he began to say, but Carlotta was speaking again.

"Oh, pooh-pooh!" derided the diva, a red-gloved hand jabbing at the Vicomte's chest. "We _all_ know you've been with her!"

"Impossible!" spluttered the blushing Vicomte. "I never did anything of the sort!"

Ciel raised both eyebrows at Sebastian, who smirked from his seat. "Sebastian, examine the box," the Earl commanded, and Sebastian stood up, bowing. He walked the perimeter of the box, unfazed by the shouting match between Raoul and Carlotta, before shaking his head. "Nothing, my lord."

"Absolutely nothing?" echoed Moncharmin, causing the Vicomte and the diva to pause in their arguing.

"How do you know?" chipped in Richard, but Sebastian and Ciel paid them no attention.

"You can't sense the ghost's presence?" Ciel asked, frowning. "So it's not one of your…"

"Neither a demon nor a shinigami," Sebastian replied. "And not an angel, either, but it's been a while since I last encountered an angel."

"So the Opera Ghost's human – whether dead or alive, it's human." Ciel gripped his cane.

"Angel?" the Vicomte exclaimed suddenly. "Christine talked about an angel…"

Ciel turned towards him. "Is Mlle Christine Daaé here?" he asked.

"Yes, I do believe so," the Vicomte replied, still a little pink about the cheeks.

"Take me to her," commanded Ciel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sebastian stiffen. "Sebastian, what is it?"

"It's here," the demon whispered, and Ciel looked past it to see a dark figure perched on the ledge – a man with a half mask. Ciel blinked, and the man disappeared.

"Ghost?" Ciel asked as they left the box.

Sebastian frowned. "Apparition," he replied.

* * *

Christine Daaé had light brown hair and clear blue eyes. She gave a little start when Ciel introduced himself and Sebastian, but overall she appeared quite nice yet tired.

The managers and Carlotta had left, but Raoul stayed behind, leaning against the doorframe and watching her with worry in his eyes.

"Can you tell us, Mlle Daaé, what you know of your Angel of Music?" Ciel asked as he sat on a pouf across from her. Raoul had told them about the Angel on their way to her dressing-room, and hinted that the Angel was tied to the Ghost in some way. Nevertheless, Christine looked slightly alarmed at the question. She looked over at Raoul, who nodded slightly.

"His voice is beautiful, clearer and purer than a bell," the chorus girl began, hiding her face behind her hair as she looked at her vanity. "Such great music he creates! So lovely yet sorrowful… he played the Resurrection of Lazarus on the violin for me once – on my father's beloved violin! The lovely melodies…" she sighed, looking away. Ciel nodded.

"Is he connected, in any way, shape, or form, to the Phantom of the Opera?" he asked, causing her to look at him sharply.

"Of course he is!" the girl snapped. "He _is_ the Phantom of the Opera! His face is terrible to behold, which is why he's always wearing a mask! Terrible, beautiful Angel!" Her eyes were wide, her face stricken with horror at the recollection; Raoul darted into the room and patted her back soothingly. Ciel raised an eyebrow.

"There, there, Christine," Raoul murmured. Christine shook her head.

"He lives in the basements of the Opera," she continued, her voice shaking. "Across… across an underground lake. There's a way… to enter his domain… through my dressing-room mirror."

At that, Ciel swept up from his seat and strode over to the mirror. Sebastian was at his side, pressing at the wall nearby.

"I had suspected as much," the butler muttered as he started to stroke the sides of the mirror. "There was something off about the wall."

"He can look into this room without us knowing," Christine supplied. "But right now he is working."

"Working!" Ciel exclaimed. "On what?"

"An opera," Christine replied matter-of-factly. Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his hands now pressing against the wallpaper. "It's to be his masterpiece. He calls it _Don Juan Triumphant_."

"I… see…" Sebastian muttered, his claret eyes lighting up as his fingers pressed the corner of the wallpaper. "Aha!"

"Nothing's happening," Ciel pointed out. Sebastian nodded, his expression amused.

"Of course, Young Master. In a moment, though…" Already, the mirror was trembling; the room and their reflections were shifting.

Suddenly the mirror swung forward, pivoting and dragging Ciel and Sebastian into darkness.

* * *

The night of the masquerade found Ciel Phantomhive ascending the stairs of the Opera House dressed in black and gold. Sebastian trailed behind him, in his usual tail suit with a black mask.

"All this lace," Ciel scoffed as he tugged at his sleeves. "I'll be bloody glad when this is over." He carried a golden Venetian mask on a stick. Sebastian chuckled from behind him.

"The Young Master doesn't seem to enjoy any sort of social event," Sebastian noted sardonically. "Tis a pity."

"I'm busy," grumbled Ciel.

"But this masquerade is part of your job. The Queen invited you."

"Gave me her invitation, actually," snapped the young Earl. "Besides, no one will dance with me at this ball – not that I care."

They walked up the grand staircase, standing to the side as Carlotta flounced past with the tenor Carolus Fonta. The two managers walked past as well, not noticing Ciel and Sebastian. M. Richard was wearing golden demon horns; Sebastian hid a smile at that.

Dancers whirled by, the women bedecked in jewels and silks. They were led by men wearing costumes that obviously cost small fortunes. All of Paris's élite – and several aristocrats from foreign countries – were gathered in the splendour of the Paris Opera House.

Off to the side, Ciel noticed Christine and Raoul arrive on the scene. Christine was dressed in pink; Raoul was in blue. They only danced with each other, standing out amid the gold-and-black crowd.

"M-may I have this dance?" a girl asked Sebastian. She was dressed in white and looked rather timid.

Sebastian shot a glance at Ciel; Ciel shooed him away. "Yes, mademoiselle," the butler replied politely, whisking her away.

Ciel resumed watching the dancers, not noticing someone else take Sebastian's spot next to him. "Is he your father, young one?" a voice asked. Ciel turned to look at a middle-aged woman in a black kimono-style dress, carrying a fan instead of a mask.

"Who are you?" he asked, and the woman raised an eyebrow.

"I am Madame Giry, mistress of the ballet."

"Ciel Phantomhive, investigator of the Opera Ghost." At that, Mme Giry looked taken aback.

"What of the man next to you?" she asked curiously. Ciel shrugged.

"Sebastian, my butler," he replied shortly. "Have you any information on the Phantom of the Opera?"

A shadow crossed her face. "Yes. Yes, I do."

The song playing at that moment drew to its climax. Sebastian returned with the girl in white; she looked rather dazed. "Thank you, Mlle Giry, for the dance," Sebastian told her politely; she nodded.

"She's your daughter?" Ciel asked Mme Giry. The woman nodded.

"Meg, meet Ciel Phantomhive," Mme Giry started to say, but suddenly the lights dimmed and a figure in red appeared.

"The opera ghost!" breathed Meg; Ciel and Sebastian straightened and inched closer to the figure at the top of the stairs. At the foot of the staircase, Christine and Raoul drew closer.

"Why so silent, good messieurs?" the Phantom demanded as he walked down the staircase. His red outfit was rather lavish; Ciel was reminded horribly of Grell Sutcliff. "Did you think that I had left you for good?"

There was complete silence. Christine started to walk up the staircase as Raoul rushed off.

"Did you miss me, good messieurs?" continued the Phantom, his voice taunting. "I bring my fondest greetings to you all today! And congratulations, on your new chandelier!" He then caught sight of Christine, who was watching him as if mesmerised.

Ciel and Sebastian both seemed to tense.

"Ah, here's our star… Mlle Christine Daaé…"

Raoul appeared from the shadows once more, carrying a sword.

"No doubt she'll do her best in _Faust_ – it's true, her voice is good! But she knows, though, should she wish to excel – she has much still to learn – if pride would only let her return to me… her teacher!" The Phantom was staring at her intently, predatorily. And like a trusting lamb, Christine walked closer to him.

The Phantom reached out and grabbed something from Christine's neck – a chain. "Your chains are still mine!" he spat. "You belong to me!"

And with that, a trapdoor opened at the top of the stairs. The Phantom ran towards it, jumping in as Raoul raced up the stairs, sword drawn as he stumbled into the trapdoor. Sebastian and Ciel dashed towards the trapdoor, but it had closed.

"Come with me, messieurs," Mme Giry spoke suddenly, grabbing Ciel and Sebastian's wrists and dragging them up the staircase. They meandered through countless halls and passageways, the mistress of the ballet somehow knowing exactly where to go.

"Where are you taking us? Unhand me, at once!" Ciel demanded as soon as she had stopped in front of a door hidden in between a set piece and a scene from what Ciel recognised as the _Roi de Lahore_. Mme Giry merely opened the door and entered; Sebastian grabbed the door before it closed.

"It's a hall of mirrors, my lord," the butler said, peering into the blackness. Mme Giry and Raoul emerged suddenly, Raoul looking shaken.

"That was the torture-chamber Erik devised to keep out the curious," the mistress of the ballet replied quietly.

"Erik?" echoed Raoul, Ciel, and Sebastian.

"The Phantom of the Opera." Mme Giry's face was grave. "There have been too many accidents now."

* * *

Another performance of _Faust_ was soon to be held, with Christine as Marguerite once more.

"Look at this," Ciel crowed over breakfast the morning of the performance, pointing at an article in the _Époque._ "The Vicomte de Chagny wants to marry Christine Daaé, and his brother disapproves!"

"I didn't know that you were interested in their affairs, Young Master," Sebastian remarked as he read the article.

Ciel snorted. "I'm only interested in them because they're tied in with the Phantom case. Speaking of which, you do have the tickets to tonight's performance?"

"Of course," Sebastian replied, producing the tickets from his pocket. "Shall we do some last-minute interrogations?"

They hurried to the Opera House, striding backstage in time to see the Vicomte giving directions to the performers. "What is going on, M le Vicomte?" Ciel demanded.

"Ah! Earl Phantomhive! Just the man I was hoping to see," Raoul exclaimed in response, walking towards them with a grin. "We are setting a trap to catch the Opera Ghost tonight!"

"And how do you intend on doing that?" Ciel asked unamusedly, leaning slightly on his cane.

Raoul chuckled. "Tonight is a performance of Faust. We are sure that if Christine sings the part of Marguerite, the Phantom will attend the performance. If we have the police arrive to line the entrances and exits, and set a marksman in one of the boxes with his weapon trained on Box Five, then we can shoot the ghost as he attends the performance! After all, Erik is only human." He cackled slightly, his voice manic.

"Are you out of your wits?" snapped Ciel. "The laughing is making my head hurt!"

"Excuse me," coughed Raoul. "Now, this is where your butler comes in."

Silence. Ciel looked at Sebastian. Raoul took the silence as his cue to go on.

"If you consent, he shall be playing the part of Méphistophélès tonight."

Ciel's eyes narrowed. "And how can you be so sure that he will know the lines by tonight?" he demanded testily.

Raoul blinked, deflating slightly. "He can't sing?" he asked.

"Tch, of course he can," snapped Ciel.

"I am a servant of the Phantomhive household. Where would I be if I cannot sing the part of Méphistophélès?" Sebastian chimed in.

"So therefore, Sebastian," instructed Ciel as he turned to his demonic butler. "I command you to sing the part of Méphistophélès tonight, and to capture the Phantom of the Opera!"

Sebastian knelt down in front of his master. "Yes, my lord."

* * *

The red curtains rose at nine o'clock. Ciel sat with the managers in their box, looking out at the audience. The house was splendid – the Faubourg was well represented, and nearly everyone who read the _Époque_ that morning had their eyes fixed on the de Chagny box. Raoul's older brother was sitting there, his face expressionless as the performance began. Raoul himself was nowhere to be seen.

Ciel trained his opera glasses on the stage when Sebastian entered dressed as Méphistophélès. The demon began to sing, his rich bass voice filling the air and complementing Carolus Fonta's tenor perfectly.

When Christine Daaé emerged onstage in the next act, the audience greeted her coldly. Ciel stifled a snicker – the coldest audience members were females. Obviously, an element of jealousy was here.

All throughout Marguerite's songs, the audience smiled knowingly at each other, turning towards the de Chagny box in hopes of catching reactions from the poker-faced Comte. Christine's voice started to waver onstage; she began to tremble.

Carlotta then made an entrance in the audience – Christine saw her and with a determined set to her jaw, she began to sing passionately, seeming to want to surpass what she had done previously.

As the last notes of the Jewel Song died, Faust and Méphistophélès re-emerged. Sebastian looked up at Ciel, tilting his head discreetly towards Faust, who was – strangely enough – wearing a mask.

It was the Phantom.

"Train the weapons on the stage," Ciel hissed to Richard, who started up and gaped at him.

"Why?" he demanded. "Isn't the ghost in Box Five now?"

Ciel shook his head. "He's Faust," he replied, pointing to the stage. The audience didn't seem to have any reaction to the new masked Faust; some of them probably thought it was part of the act. Ciel frowned. What a gullible audience!

The Garden Act carried through smoothly, and so did the next. Ciel had to stifle a snicker when Sebastian barred Christine from finishing her prayer at the cathedral. He tried to school his expression as the demonic chorus joined in; one hand flew up to pat his eye patch.

Finally, the Prison Act. Sebastian and the Phantom stood off to the side as Christine began her invocation to the angels. Her voice was so pure it made Ciel feel as if he was flying; he struggled to remain still. The Phantom had to make his move soon; it was the last act. Marguerite was to be swept into heaven, the exact opposite fate of Ciel Phantomhive himself.

"Holy angel, in Heaven blessed," Christine cried out, reaching her hands skywards as a man in the audience stood up, facing her. It was Raoul, one arm outstretched, reaching for Christine.

"My spirit longs with thee to rest!" And with that cry, the entire stage was plunged into darkness. In a flash, the stage was lit once more, but Marguerite and Faust had vanished.

The entire audience sat there, shocked. Raoul cried out, rushing towards the stage. In the de Chagny box, the Comte jumped to his feet and left. Sebastian was already standing at the spot where the two were, frowning slightly as the audience began to speculate what happened.

The curtain fell, and moments later Sebastian re-emerged from the red velvet. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he said calmly. "An event has taken place and thrown us into a state of the greatest alarm. Our sister-artist, Christine Daaé, has been kidnapped by the Phantom of the Opera!"

* * *

Ciel raced backstage, colliding with Raoul, who seemed to be near hysterics.

"So much for your plan, monsieur!" Ciel exclaimed.

"And so much for yours!" retorted Raoul. "Weren't you supposed to capture him?"

"I assure you, Sebastian will capture the Phantom of the Opera." Ciel ran off, towards Christine's dressing-room. Raoul joined him, trotting anxiously in the Earl's wake.

They entered the dressing-room, but there were already two people there. Sebastian, still dressed as the demon Méphistophélès, and a man with jade eyes and ebony skin.

"Young Master, meet the Persian," Sebastian said quietly. "He has been Erik's long time friend, and he will help us capture the Opera Ghost."

"And what of Christine?" Raoul chipped in.

"She is with Erik," the Persian replied, handing him a pistol, "in the house on the lake."

* * *

Down once more to the dungeons of the Phantom's despair. Down once more, to the prison of his mind. The party had entered the passageway from the mirror, everyone with their hand at eye level.

"His preferred method of killing is the Punjab lasso," explained the Persian as they tiptoed through the darkness. "The most effective way to avoid death by lasso is to make sure that something more than just the neck is caught."

Ciel nodded, although in the darkness it was a waste of expression.

They continued this way for some time, before the Persian made a detour into a cellar. It was lit here, and they could hear conversation regarding the lighting system.

"Mauclair, the gas man, was found drugged at the scene," Sebastian murmured to Ciel. "And the same went for Carolus Fonta backstage. "However, I have no idea how the Phantom managed to kidnap Christine so quickly from his spot on the stage."

"A trap door, I presume?" Ciel whispered back, as they moved away down to the third cellar.

Down in the third cellar, the door-shutters were called up for interrogation. They moved past, heading down towards the fifth cellar.

"Exactly why are we going down this far?" Ciel demanded suddenly, causing the Persian to whirl around and glare at him.

"Shush! Erik can hear you!" he hissed back, but Ciel snorted.

"He's probably too busy threatening Christine Daaé. I personally don't see reason in heading down this far if it can't take me to the lake to get to his house. Sebastian, let's go."

Sebastian and Ciel left the Persian and Raoul, not heeding the Persian's warnings.

"The passage to the lake is on the Rue Scribe," Sebastian said as they headed back up to the main part of the Opera. "And I took the opportunity to obtain the key to the gate there while we were in Mlle Daaé's dressing-room." They were back to square one. But now they headed outside, down to the Rue Scribe.

The passageway from the Rue Scribe – once Sebastian had opened the gate – was dark as any other. An eerie green light filled the air as they got closer to the underground lake, and finally they were there. But they weren't alone.

"Someone's in the water!" exclaimed Ciel, as the body drifted past. "Sebastian! Go out there and fetch him!"

But when Sebastian took one step into the water, the silence suddenly broke as song filled the air. A beautiful singer hidden in the water was warbling a tune of unsurpassed loveliness. Tantalised, Ciel walked towards the water as well. If it was coming from the depths of the lake, he had to go and find it… underwater…

"Young Master!" Sebastian cried, but his voice was barely heard as an entranced Ciel vanished beneath the lake.

* * *

A requiem mass was playing mournfully when Ciel Phantomhive woke up, and for a moment he thought he was on the banks of the underground lake once more. He shot up straight. "The siren!" he cried.

"The siren is no more," a voice replied bitterly, and the boy found himself looking at a man with a half mask on his face. "Your servant killed him."

"You! You're the Phantom of the Opera!" Having just awoke, Ciel wasn't quite ready to state anything other than the obvious.

"Yes, I am," the man replied simply. Christine Daaé sat next to him, saying nothing.

"Where's Sebastian?" demanded Ciel. "Where've you taken him?"

"Right here, my lord," Sebastian replied, and a comforting hand fell on his shoulder. Ciel leaned in, looking intently at the Phantom.

"Sebastian, what happened?"

The demonic butler sighed a little, looking over at the Phantom, who merely shrugged. "You were entranced by a siren who sang underneath the lake to lure people intent on visiting the Phantom's lair to their deaths. I disposed of the siren and swam with you up to the banks of the Phantom's lair. He let us in, albeit reluctantly."

"Whose was the body in the lake?"

"Comte Philippe de Chagny," Christine whispered, a tear running down her cheek. The Phantom himself said nothing for a moment.

"What of Raoul and the Persian?" Ciel asked after a moment, but Erik merely pointed next to them, at the comatose figures of the Persian and Raoul. Ciel hid a smirk.

"They eventually discovered another route into my lair," Erik replied coldly, but Christine laid a hand on his arm. "I punjabbed them, but Christine told me to spare their lives like she told me to let you in. The Angel! The first to see me fully without revulsion…" he trailed off, voice choked with emotion.

"Will they be all right?" Ciel asked, frowning slightly.

"As well as they'll ever be." Erik looked at Sebastian. "I think it's time for you two to leave."

Ciel stood up haughtily. "I see. I was sent here to investigate an Opera Ghost, and all I find is a pitiful – yet ingenious – man madly in love with what he cannot attain." He doffed his hat to Erik, who nodded. "Her Majesty the Queen may rest easy, then, with your promise of no more mischief."

"You have my word," Erik replied, his expression serious but voice bitter.

Nodding, Ciel turned to Sebastian. "Let's go, Sebastian."

* * *

Weeks passed. Ciel and Sebastian had returned to the Phantomhive Manor, determined to move on to the next case.

"I hope Her Majesty won't ask me to search the Convent Garden for a so-called ghost as well," Ciel remarked sardonically as Sebastian entered with a tray of letters and the paper.

Sebastian smirked, saying nothing. Ciel took the paper. "Anything else?" he asked as the butler then poured him a cup of Earl Grey.

"I found a curious advertisement in the _Époque_ this morning," Sebastian replied, handing Ciel a clipping. The young Phantomhive took it, frowning. It read:

_Erik is Dead._


End file.
